Outkast feat. RATM - BOB | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Outkast feat. RATM
• BOB

Bombs over Bagdad

(Dre)
1, 2... 1, 2, 3; yeah!
Inslumnational, underground
Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (Woo!)
Like a million elephants or silverback orangutans
You can't stop a train
Who want some? Don't come un-pre-pared
I'll be there, but when I leave there
Better be a household name
Weather man tellin' us it ain't gon' rain
So now we sittin' in a drop-top soakin' wet
In a silk suit tryin' not to sweat
Hittin' somersaults without the net
But this'll be the year that we won't forget
One-nine-nine-nine ano domini anything goes, be what you wannabe
Long as you know consequences are given for living
The fence is too high to jump in jail
Too low to dig, I might just touch hell
Hot! Get a life, now they on sale
Then I might cast you a spell,
look at what came in the mail,
A scale and some Arm and Hammer, soul gold grill and a babym`ama
Black Cadillac and a pack of pampers, stack of questions with noanswers
Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS
Make a nigga wanna stay on tour for days
Get back home, thangs are wrong
We're not really it was bad all along
Before you left, adds up to a ball of power
Thoughts at a thousand miles per hour
Hello, ghetto, let your brain breathe,
Believe there's always mo
Owwww!

Chorus: 2X
(Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!
(Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah!
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!

(Big Boi)
Uno, dos, tres, it's on
Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone
Like that there boy and we still stay street
Big things happen everytime we meet
Like a track team, crack fiend, dyin' to geek
Outkast bumpin' up and down the street
Slant back, Cadillac, 'bout five niggas deep
Seventy-five mc's freestylin' to the beat
Cause we get krunk, stay drunk, at the club
Should have bought an ounce, but you copped a dub
Should have held back, but you throwed a punch
'Spose to meet your girl but you packed a lunch
No D to-the U to-the G for you
Got a son on the way by the name of Bamboo
Got a little baby girl four year, Jordan
Never turn my back on my kids, for them
Should have hit, quit it, rag top
Before you read up, get a laptop
Make a business for yourself, boy, set some goals
Make a fair diamond out of dusty coals
Record number four, but we on the road
Hold up, slow up, stop, control
Like Janet, planet Stankonias on ya
Movin' like floyd come straight to Florida
Lock all your windows then block the corridors
Pullin' off myself 'cause a whippins in order
Like a three piece fish, 'fore I cut your daughter
Yo quiero Taco Bell, then i hit the border
Pity pat rappers tryin' to get the five
I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive
When you come to A-T-L boy you better not hide
Cause the Dungeon Family gonna ride
High!

Chorus: 2X
(Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!
(Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah!
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!

(Choir)
Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!
Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!
Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!
Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!

(Dre)
B-I-G, B-O-I
An-An-Andre
To the T-O-P

(Dre and Big Boi) 16X
Bob your head. Rag top.

(1,2...1,2,3,4) (Gimme some)

(Choir) 23X
Power music. Electric revival.

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